Chapter 31
Roman
The black Maybach tore through the waterlogged asphalt, engine roaring. I gripped the wheel, knuckles white. The split wounds had crusted over the stitches, but I felt nothing.
Nadia. Where the hell are you?
The phone on the passenger seat buzzed violently. I jammed in the Bluetooth. "Talk."
"Pakhan, we got her!" Danny's voice cut through rain and gunfire. "West side, abandoned garage! Vera was about to board Morozov's armored ride when the boys blew it to hell with an RPG! Morozov's men are down. Vera's ours!"
"Don't touch her. I'm coming."
I jerked the wheel hard. The tires shrieked on wet pavement, the car sliding sideways at a deadly angle before straightening out like a black beast, rocketing toward the industrial district.
Ten minutes. I made it ten minutes.
I killed the engine and strode past Danny, not bothering with pleasantries. One kick sent the rusted metal door flying off its hinges.
The warehouse reeked of cordite, gasoline, and blood. Bodies littered the floor. In the center, two of my men had Vera pinned to the oil-stained concrete.
She was a mess—clothes caked in mud and blood, hair wild, face scraped raw from the crash.
But when she saw me, her expression shifted. Pain twisted into something fragile, pitiful. Tears welled up.
"Roman..." Her voice cracked. "You came... I hurt so much..."
She reached out, trembling, trying to grab my pant leg.
"Roman, I know I messed up... but I didn't mean it. I just missed my sister so much... I lost Lena. I couldn't lose you too..."
"Lena made me promise to take care of you before she died. She said you were her only sister..."
Vera sobbed. "Roman, for Lena's sake, for everything we've been through... please forgive me... I know I was wrong..."
God, she was good. If I didn't know what she'd done, I might've fallen for it. Again.
But not this time.
I stared down at her, silent. Just watching.
Panic flashed in her eyes. She recovered fast, doubling down on the act.
"Roman... my hand's bleeding... you know about my hemophilia... if we don't stop it, I'll die... please... get a doctor... for Lena..."
"Lena?" I finally spoke. Ice-cold.
Her eyes lit up. She thought she had me.
"Yes, Lena... She wanted us to be family... Roman, don't you remember all the good times? Lena's birthday when the three of us—"
"Enough."
I cut her off and crouched down, studying her.
"Vera. You're a hell of an actress." My voice was flat. "All these years, you've used that helpless routine, Lena's name, your condition—every goddamn time, you slithered away."
Her face went rigid.
I stood. "But it won't work now."
"What do you mean?"
"Danny." I didn't look back. "Get Yuri. Full medical kit."
"Yes, Pakhan."
Confusion and fear flickered across Vera's face.
"Why... why are you calling a doctor?"
"To save you." My tone was dead. "I told you. I need you alive."
Dr. Yuri arrived within minutes.
"Pakhan." He glanced at Vera, something unreadable in his eyes.
"Stop the bleeding. Transfusion, clotting factors. Keep her stable."
"Understood."
Yuri worked fast—injection, bandages, IV drip.
Vera's eyes went wide. Realization dawned.
"No... no..." Her voice shook. "Roman, what are you doing?"
"I said I need you alive." I walked to a tool rack and picked up a rusted pair of pliers. "Didn't say I'd keep you comfortable."
Her face drained of color.
"No—Roman! You can't! I have hemophilia! You know that! You can't—"
"I know." I crouched in front of her again. "That's why I brought the best doctor. He'll make sure you don't bleed out."
"You're insane!" The mask cracked. Real terror showed through. "Roman, for Lena's sake—"
"Don't say her name." My voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't get to say her name."
I grabbed her right hand. The pliers clamped around her pinky nail.
"No—don't—!" Vera screamed. "Roman! Please! I'll tell you where Nadia is! I'll tell you everything!"
"Now you want to talk?" I smiled. "Too late."
I yanked. The nail tore free, skin and all.
"AAAHHHHH!"
Her scream was inhuman. She convulsed. Blood spurted from her finger, but Yuri was already there, clamping and medicating.
"See?" I whispered in her ear. "You won't die. Not yet."
Vera shook violently, tears and snot streaming down her face. Nothing left of that pitiful act.
"You psycho..." She spat through gritted teeth, eyes full of venom. "You'll regret this... you'll regret this..."
"Regret?" I laughed. "My only regret is not seeing through you sooner."
I released her hand and stood.
"Now. Where's Nadia?"
Vera gasped for air. The softness, the pleading—gone. Only hysteria and hate remained.
"You think... you think Nadia's the one you wronged most?" She laughed, wild and broken. "Roman, you idiot... do you know how Lena really died?"
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"You think it was the Morozov family?" Madness danced in her eyes. "No! It was me! I sold you out! I planned that ambush! I watched that hypocritical bitch burn alive!"
Lightning struck inside my skull.
I froze. Couldn't have heard that right.
"What did you just say?"
"It was all her fault!" Vera shrieked. "I hated her! She took everything from me! Father's love, the family's respect, your love!"
"My mother was a disgrace, so I was always treated like a bastard! But her? She was the perfect little princess! Everyone said she was so wonderful, so perfect for you!"
"Why? Why did she get everything while I got nothing?"
"So I killed her!" Pure malice blazed in her eyes. "I destroyed her myself! And you—you stupid fool—you took care of me for six years out of guilt!"
"Six years of your guilt, your self-blame—it was all a joke! A beautiful joke!"
"And now..." She looked at me, venomous. "Now you found another woman? Think you'll be happy? Dream on!"
"I'll destroy her! Just like I destroyed Lena! I'll make you feel that loss again!"
Everything went silent. Just a high-pitched ringing in my ears. My breath stopped.
Six years ago, Lena's death became my nightmare, the weight I carried on my soul. I thought my enemies had killed her. I blamed myself. I made caring for her "only sister" Vera my lifelong penance.
Because of that guilt, I brought this viper into my manor. Because of that guilt, I pushed Nadia away with cold cruelty, thinking I was protecting her.
And now this psycho tells me she did it? That my guilt, my so-called protection, my retreat—it was all a fucking joke?
"You goddamn bitch!"
"I'm a bitch, and I drove you crazy!" Vera laughed harder.
"Where is she?" I grabbed her throat and lifted her off the ground. My fingers tightened, veins bulging on the back of my hand, nearly crushing her windpipe. "Last time. Where. Is. Nadia?"
Her face turned purple. She clawed uselessly at my arm. As she started to suffocate, real fear finally broke through.
"At... her parents'..." She choked out the words, but that sick smile remained. "But... you're too late... Roman..."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I... paid off her parents... a million and two hundred thousand... they... they sent her to the dark web underground auction... by now she's probably been... bought like livestock... by some perverted rich freak..."
Underground auction.
My heart skipped.
In Chicago's underworld, nobody knew better than me what kind of hell that place was. Women sent there were stripped of all dignity, priced like meat, tortured and violated until they became broken corpses.
And Nadia... my Kitten... her own parents sold her there?
I released Vera. She crumpled to the ground, coughing and retching.
"Danny!" I spun around, eyes blood-red. "Take this bitch back to the manor. I want her begging for death."
"No—Roman! You can't—"
Vera's screams faded behind me.
I bolted to the car and fired the engine.
"Pakhan, the boys are en route." Danny jumped in. "We've got eyes on the Cross house."
"Good." I punched the accelerator. The car launched into Chicago's night like a missile.
One thought consumed me—find her.
Wherever she was, whether she wanted to see me or not, I had to find her.
I kicked the door clean off its hinges. It crashed onto the living room carpet.
Silence. No lights.
"Search!"
My men flooded in, tearing the house apart.
I moved through with my gun drawn. The coffee table held empty bottles and cigarette butts. Cheap perfume polluted the air.
"Pakhan! Second floor clear!"
"Kitchen clear!"
"This bedroom—there's something here!"
I charged down the hall to a cramped bedroom at the end.
When I saw inside, I stopped breathing.
Empty. Window half-open, curtains billowing in the wind.
But on the bed—massive, dried bloodstains. Dark red against white sheets, stark under the lights.
Near the headboard, a rough industrial nylon rope, cut and discarded on the floor.
I walked over slowly and dropped to my knees. My hand shook as I picked up the rope.
Blood. Dried blood coating it. I could see fragments of skin and flesh caught in the fibers. The kind of damage that came from being bound so tight, struggling so hard—
My heart shattered.
I could see it. Her coming back here, injured, thinking this was home. Her parents—those animals—tying her to this bed like cargo.
So much blood. How much pain was she in? How desperate?
"Bastards... those goddamn bastards!!!"
I crushed the bloody rope in my fist. Murderous rage drowned everything else.
"Pakhan!" Danny burst in, dragging a terrified neighbor who'd pissed himself. "This old guy saw them! Fifteen minutes ago! The Crosses carried someone wrapped in a blanket out to a black Ford Transit van, headed south!"
"Fifteen minutes?" I shot to my feet, eyes bleeding red.
Fifteen minutes. They couldn't be far.
"Get tech on it now! Every black Ford Transit within twenty miles heading south! Traffic cams, surveillance—I want their exact location!"
I shoved past Danny and stormed back outside.
"And find those animals! The brother at the casino, the parents—grab them all! I'm going to skin them alive!"
Back in the Maybach, I ripped off my soaked jacket and threw it aside. Every muscle coiled tight, ready to explode.
The car tore back into the storm, tires smoking.
The comms crackled with urgent reports.
"Pakhan! Got it! Black Ford Transit, stolen plates, southbound on I-94! Destination looks like South Harbor Warehouse Seven! That's one of the rumored dark web auction sites!"
"Alert every crew near South Harbor. Full combat load. Surround Warehouse Seven. Nothing gets out!"
I floored it. The speedometer pushed past 160. The wipers couldn't keep up with the rain.
A massive, crushing panic seized my chest.
"Nadia..."
I stared into the black road ahead, eyes burning, jaw clenched so hard I tasted blood.
I had no faith. I didn't believe in God. But right now, I was begging—begging him to save Nadia.
For her, I'd give my soul. I'd take eighteen levels of hell, every torture imaginable. Just let her be safe.